


An Avengers' Christmas

by Teeelsie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, He needs to take a page from the Rhodey playbook, In a 'they had horrible childhoods' kind of way, One of those ‘they all live together in the tower’ fics, Poor Sam, Silly, The Avengers are all pretty fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21906481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teeelsie/pseuds/Teeelsie
Summary: Tony invites Sam to an Avengers Christmas dinner.  It is not at all what he expected.
Comments: 22
Kudos: 128





	An Avengers' Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ranni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/gifts).



> I’ve had a draft of this sitting on my hard drive since 2016. I had a flash that I thought might develop into a longer thread, but nothing ever came of it and I don’t think it’s going to. I'm sick of seeing it in my WIP folder, so I cleaned it up and wrapped it up. So, here, have an Avengers Christmas drabble (I mean, technically, it's longer than a drabble, but it's sort of drabble-y for me). 
> 
> I'm calling this a gift for Ranni. Not for any particular reason, except that she's awesome and it's Christmas and her comments always make me smile, and usually make me laugh.
> 
> Happy Holidays to you all! 
> 
> (not beta'd)

As near as Sam can tell, most of these Avengers are completely fucked up.

Case in point: Steve Rogers. He’s been a huge ball of pent up angst since their run in with the Winter Soldier just over a year ago, convinced that it was his old friend Bucky Barnes. Sam has a hard time believing it, but then again, Steve Rogers is still rattling around looking 25, so he supposes it’s not impossible that Bucky Barnes could be, too.

The rest of them are no better. Tony Stark is clearly suffering from PTSD and is losing his battle to drink himself out of it. Natasha walks around encased in a hard shell, the only problem is, sometimes it looks like it’s going to crack any second, especially those terrifying few weeks after SHIELD fell when she didn’t hear from Barton. And Barton… Sam is still trying to get a handle on what exactly Barton’s story is. He gets the idea that the phrase, “still waters run deep” might apply there, but only Nat seems to know him well, and she’s not talking. Wanda is still grieving the death of her brother and the best way this group of people around her has found to help her through it is to throw her into more fighting as a distraction. And Thor clearly has some daddy issues. Then again, so does Stark. And Banner, if the stories are true.

Yeah, they’re all fucked up.

But Stark invited him to come by for an Avengers Christmas dinner, and Sam’s curious to see what, exactly, a holiday party Tony Stark-style, looks like.

When Sam steps off the elevator, he wonders if he has gotten the date wrong. He’d expected that, since this is Stark’s place, and Stark is, well, a man known a little bit for his excesses, that it would be dripping in festive holiday décor. Sam is not prepared for there to be…nothing.

“Wilson!” Tony calls out to him cheerfully, waving him into the large common room.

Sam looks around, then down at the plate he's carrying of his grandma's-recipe cut-out cookies that he spent all day decorating. He sweeps the Santa hat off his head. “Uh, I thought you said it was a Christmas party?” 

Stark blinks at him. “It is.”

“Tony, there’s literally nothing festive or Christmas-y in this room.” There's not even a sprig of mistletoe.

“There’s eggnog,” Stark says, holding up the dainty cup in one hand - pinky finger extended - and pointing at it with the other. “And it’s spiked. What could be more festive than that?”

“On Asgard, we celebrate the seasonal solstice, and not this ‘Christ-Mass’,” Thor booms. “Tell me of your traditions!”

Blank faces meet his question.

  
“Seriously?” Sam asks, wide eyed and incredulous. “Nobody?” He swivels around and looks at each of them in turn.

Clint is lying mostly on his side on the couch, propped up against the back. His arms are crossed loosely on his chest and his eyes are closed, a small smirk on his face. “Barton?” Sam asks, somewhat randomly.

Clint opens his eyes to half-mast. “Mmm..." he considers for a moment. "No. I grew up in a circus. We didn’t exactly have traditional holidays.”

Sam’s brain stutters at that. _A circus?_ That could explain his uncanny acrobatic skills, Sam supposes. “But you must have at least had a Christmas tree, didn’t you?”

“We were usually in Florida or Texas in winter,” Clint shrugs. “They didn’t have ‘em down there.”

Sam scoffs. “Barton. I know for a fact that they have Christmas trees in Florida and Texas.”

Clint shrugs again, unconcerned. 

Sam turns to the others. “Bruce?”

Banner rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh…my father wasn’t big on Christmas.”

“Heeeey,” Clint hoots with a grin, “mine either!”

Sam furrows his brow and stares at Barton for a second, then turns toward Wanda.

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “My parents died when Pietro and I were young; no one bothered with Christmas for orphans.”

“Oh yeah, that, too,” Clint pipes up, looking relaxed, eyes closed once again.

“Tony?” Sam tries, desperate, and certain that he’ll have _something._

“Oh, my Christmases were entirely dependent on the native customs of whatever au pair I had at the moment. It got a little confusing, actually.” He shrugs. “I find it’s easier not to overthink it.” He slurps down more eggnog.

Sam looks at Natasha, regrets it immediately, and cringes internally.

She doesn’t look up from the book she’s reading. “Red Room,” is all she says. It’s all she _has_ to say.

Sam finally turns beseechingly to Steve. Surely, Steve, the all-American boy, has some Christmas traditions in his past.

Steve winces. “We were too poor?” he says, sounding apologetic.

Clint’s arm shoots up, one finger pointing toward the ceiling. “Aaaaannnddd, again.” He struggles to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen…” His arms are spread wide and he’s slurring now, the loaded eggnog having apparently gotten the better of him, “…my work here is done.” He bows dramatically with one arm forward, then again with the other, then shuffles out of the room.

Sam is still unpacking Barton’s remarks and trying to decide if any of it is true, when Rhodey steps up next to him with a smirk on his face. Sam shifts and cocks an eyebrow at him. “Lemme guess, raised by wolves?”

Rhodey snorts. “Christmas tree, midnight service, frosted sugar cookies," he plucks one off Sam's plate, "Christmas caroling, beef roast for dinner, and we watched ‘The Grinch’ together as a family every year.

“ _Thank_ you,” Sam says.

Across the room, bickering erupts over which take-out to order for their holiday dinner.

Sam watches for a moment, then turns back to Rhodey. “Does it strike you as odd that it’s the two black dudes in this scenario who are the least fucked up?”

Rhodey laughs. “Like Tony said, it’s best not to overthink it.” He claps Sam on the shoulder. “Come on. I’ll buy you an eggnog.”

**Author's Note:**

> Phhhttt. idek, man. Comments are always great, but, yeah, prolly not too much to say about this one. ;p


End file.
